Endure, Cope, Love
by HalfjeFijnVolkoren
Summary: With Chakotay gone for the weekend, Kathryn finds herself in trouble and has to deal with an unwanted visitor J/C, Mark Johnson & others.
1. Chackotay s POV

Chakotays POV

_A good, or rather _great_ morning and a warm welcome to IDS__-Daily News. It is oh-nine-hundred hours and the chronometer keeps ticking as we countdown to what may be the long awaited answer to the Federations financial crisis. Final votes or vetos on Starfleets rigorous reforms will be coming in straight from the Presidium -with us to discuss todays pending proceedings is the__ canny, capable but most of all captivating admiral Kathryn Janeway. Goodmorning admiral and welcome to the table._

My wife appears on the screen and offers the flirtatious host a friendly nod. I lean forward in an attempt to deduce her state of mind off the unrelenting panelscreen. My still steaming mug is put down on the kitchencounter and I shift to the tip of my high stool. Undetectable by the untrained eye, the tension between her eyebrows betrays the slightest of apprehension in her pleasantry -she had had a long day.

I don´t much like the hunched over anchorman of this fastpaced bulletin; he leans as heavily on populistic one-liners as he does on his silver-taupe table. It occurs to me it might also be jealousy and frown at the thought. The nature of her tasks and activities have changed drastically since our return home and her promotion into formal distance others had always respected towards her had given way to forward journalists and peers that hadn´t existed while on voyager, where every crewmember had been her subordinate. My being second in command had entailed I enjoyed somewhat of a monopoly on her informalities and intimacy. The forward way in which new spectaters sometimes treated her caused an unease in my gut. An unwelcome and unforseen novelty that I preferred to keep far from her.

I shake my head at the idea. No, it´s his superficiality I don´t like. Intelligent as I know Kathryn to be, she won't be seduced into simplifying her statements. It does cross my mind however that she´s not used to adressing the general public. Armed with bulletproof logic, a clear tactic, and an inspiring vision Kathryn had usually managed to win over scientists, specialists and even intimidating aliens. The target demographic of this sketchy newscast, however, would probably prefer short and simple anwers over some extended analysis.

_You were up earlier than me, admiral, my breadmaker was still heating up by the time you were presenting Starfleets proposition of reforms to the Federation High Council. _

_ Tel me though, was this not a job more suitable for an elected official, a member of parliament perhaps?_

Kathryn had been specifically chosen to break these tough reforms to the Council. Some political advisory comittee had expressed the belief that an acclaimed and prominent messenger might sweeten the otherwise bitter news. I know she is determined not to share this sample of political tactic with the sharp-tongued people-pleaser, worrying that her authenticity might be questioned.

Of course, none of this is to be detected in the calm but decisive manner in which she offers her answer.

_Earths political institutions have worked closely together with Starfleets admiralty in devising this strategy to enforce economic stability. My representing them is a reflection of that cooperation. _

Well put, I think proudly.

Instead of wearing her usual uniform she wears a black jacket with a high collared red blouse. Her hair had been curly since she had stopped straightening it and it´s fashioned more loosely than it had been during her speech this morning. I figure she must have had good reason to dress so differently for her appearence on this newscast.

She looks more feminine like this. I like it.

_...__Defeating this crisis will be the Federations largest internal challenge since its formation. Earth must play its part and that includes the Fleet. We are willing to invest in the stability and unity of the Federation and, by doing so, have to make substantial budgetcuts in research and exploration._

_ I consider this a personal loss, but also a loss to the Fleet as a whole. Research and exploration is after all our mission, our core business if you will. None the less, Starfleet has never left room for doubt in its determination to see the Federation through this ordeal._

"Can I bring my porto-viewscreen to Dorvan?" My daughter, Layla, snaps me out of my concentration as she stands in the kitchendoorway holding up a flat device.

Unwilling to shift my attention to what might turn out to be a long discussion I decide to humor her "Sure, just don't pack too much, we'll only be gone for four days". Before returning to the interview however, I notice her being suspiciously excited. My mug was almost raised to my mouth as it lingered in mid-air and a realisation hit me: "...why? What did mom say?". Apparently my daughters life-happiness is based solely on this device because in a split second her shoulders drop and her eyebrows shift into a pyramid-like shape. Her voice hightens by at least an octave as she pleads against this severe injustice "But you just said it was okay! The connection from Dorvan is always so bad, how else am I going to talk to Miral?". It´s a futile attempt for my focus had already returned to the interview.

"Just listen to your mother" I add.

_... Klingon Empire has not managed to act on its promise of reform and weighs heavily on our economy. For example, the amount of exorbitant military bonusses has grown with a factor of 12 where plans of social security have not been executed. We can be clear and honest about that. This however is no reason to reevaluate Kronos' entrance into the Federation. We knew of our vast cultural diffences from the get go and shouldn´t be surprised to find it´s a rocky road we have embarked on. And don't forget Chancellor Mo´Ros has repeatedly clarified his willingness to remain in the Federation and has declared to enforce corruption-laws so that Kronos will no longer bring down creditstrenght. Also, the Empire has shown its ability to change, just look at the percentage of represention by vote in the Klingon Council, it has grown from 42% to 86% in only one year. That's a truly astonishing feat._

I can still feel my daughters presence behind me, apparently not yet done pleading her case. Reluctant to tear my eyes from Kathryns appearance I look over my shoulder and am about to appeal for some extra time when her brother slides past. My socks prove to be effective skates on the smooth wooden floor. "Dad, where are my skis?" he yells, waving his arms in an effort to steady himself next to his sister.

Secretly amused by their inability to pack, I turn around and surrender to their demands. "You won't need your ski's" I say as I squat down in front of them. "There's no snow where we're going." The boy lovingly named after my father in law raises his shoulders "..but you never know, do you?" He looks at me with big brown eyes, filled with hope and genuine goodwill. I melt at the sight but realise that arriving on Dorvan with a pair of skis would be a dead giveaway of my struggle to be strict. "We'll only be there for two days and we'll be on the shuttle for two days," I repeat "..so we don't need to bring that much." Eddie processed this information and gives his short fingers a pensive look "..two plus two..equals..five..". Layla who is two years his senior leaned in close to his ear "Four" she says, "...but you were _so _close".

Unwilling to waste their precious time on futile negotiations with me they run upstairs. Presumably to pack skis and a porto-viewscreen. I linger in the doorway where my son and daughter stood before and smuggle in one last look at the mediapanel, desperate to catch some more of my wifes explanation.

_... concensus about the origin of the crisis; excessive interplanetary-dept but also a flawed enforcement of financial law and Federation rules of commerce. The federation will be crippled if the value of our credit dwindles further. I feel we need to take a good look at ourselves and tackle these problems integrally. _

"_DAD_, do we have bigger luggagecontainers?!" Edward shouts down from the top of the stairs. I make a mental note to watch the interview later that day and head up to oversee the chaos. In the false hope of catching some of it upstairs I leave the player on, leaving my wife's carefully constructed plans to fall deaf in an empty kitchen.

_...in part by the substantial support of Starfleet and the four most affluent and stable planetary systems. Their input is needed to bring Kronos to a point of balance and stability, and become a valued, contributing member of the Federation_.

_A _bath leth_ would sure butch up some of Starfleets slick digit-dwellers! I just hope I can get used to their constant growling if they were to become regulars on the show._

_ In that case you might like the contraption I was given as a keepsake during my last visit to Kronos. My children can't get enough of it; it's a comunicator that automatically scoffs whoever you hail. Isn't that hysterical? _

_ Ha! I__ts in dire need of promotion among Starfleet personell.__ I__t__ would liven up the lot, no doubt about it! A__nd with that priceless proof of Klingon wit we conclude our broadcast for today and may I extend my warmest gratitude to our much anticipated guest: admiral, I've enjoyed our conversation and it's been, as our Klingon friends would say: an honour. IDS-Daily out._


	2. Holly Caulfields POV

2. Holly Caulfields POV

"I believe that if we are too strict with our students, and ..." he is too emotionally involved to properly articulate his case "...what's the word, too _narrow-minded_ with them, that we'll have no, no, what's the word, no leverage. How can we keep a conversation going if we put them in straightjackets?!"

"A schooluniform is hardly a straightjacket." I say matter of factly. "In a University where the population is as homogeneous as yours, schooluniforms might be considered a move of true audacity." I take a quick look at the main entrance of Oxfords great foyer before I continue. "To dress in the Oxford tradition might even spark a sense of herritage. Not to mention, it would rid you of this whole dilemma of whether to let the Cardassians wear those rascist symbols."

"They are not rascist, they're a religious statement! I'm sure Mark would agree with me."

I give in and stop listening, I'm tired of smalltalk. There is no argueing with his whine induced determination anyway. I look around the crowded atrium and find Mark standing at the buffet. He's caught up in an animated conversation with some coworker. I mentally prepare myself for a long evening since he would usually be engulfed in endless discussions and fantastical anecdotes, oblivious to the fact that it's past campus curfue and that the hall is long deserted. More then once cleaners or caterers had kindly asked him and his group to take the function elsewhere. I wish he wouldn't do that but after all the years of living with me he still hadn't changed a bit -that is, aside from some grey hair, a stiffened back and a few lines around his eyes that could be considered to add sophistication to an already refined demeanor.

I raise my glass at him but go unnoticed.

She wasn't coming, that much was clear. Her awesome absence somehow gave her even more power; Mark had been physically ill when she was announced missing and now she didn't even show up at the opportunity to see him. Apparently, when two people love each other, the only thing needed to make them stop caring, is time. How sad.

I keep humming and nodding to fulfill the social chore of debating with Marks tipsy collegues; all fellow professors of the Oxford University. No one notices that my mind secretly wanders to the books back at home, waiting for me on the livingroom coffeetable. My books lie in the centre of our house; neglected, covered in dust and offering nothing but contempt everytime I walk past them. They catch me off guard everytime I sit down to watch a newsitem or kick off my heels after a long day of work. For a moment I'm back at the moment they first made their entry into my life.

Mark had been lying with his head on my lap, exhausted and desperate for consolation. He had just shared some of his encyclopedic knowledge of his long lost love. Namely that she so loved to read vintage books, preferably written by authors that were long dead and no sane person had ever heard of. In an attempt to win his affection and perhaps to also receive some of his charismatic attention, I told him that vintage books were exactly what I liked to spent my rainy sundays with. That very night he gave me the books that Kathryn had previously owned and would from then on be mere decorations on my livingroom coffeetable.

They are, I guess, still hers now that she is back from the dead.

Mark must've figured me out by now. Kind as he is though, he never once asked me why I never mentioned my supposed love for books again.

I had never liked hearing about Kathryn Janeway and yet I couldn't seem to get enough of the trivial facts Mark occasionally shared with me. Every piece of new information being like a forbidden fruit; unatainable, enchanting, annoying in its quasi-nonchalance and representing my shady fascination with this essential part of his existence. She had become an unavoidable entity that kept interfering with my life. An interfererence I had grown accustomed to. I would never ask him for it, as I'm supposedly too selfconfident, but I would be lying if I said I didn't treasure the little clues that Mark gave me. Clues that I felt where like the yellow brick road leading me straight into his heart.

Days strung into weeks and into months and our relationship had slowly developed into what it was today. As the years went by her presence in our household faded and the entity became more discrete -it never dissipated, for even if she wasn't often mentioned, the books were never moved. She was however, no longer the sole formula with which Marks enthusiasm and affection could be evoked.

That is, until we received word of their astounding survival, and she became, once again, everything I could never be: Kathryn Janeway.

In a pathetic attempt to bann her out of my imagination and pull her into reality I had hoped to meet her at this function. I had asked Mark to invite her, but as I had seen her appear on the IDS-Daily show this morning I realised that she probably wouldn't make it. Come to think of it, I wonder if he even actually invited her. In a fluke of impulsiveness I had visited the Presidium this afternoon, thinking she might be there awaiting the vote. I had imagined she would just be sitting in the lobby, quietly reading one of her precious books. I was going to walk up to her and introduce myself. I had even thought of a plausible excuse for my presence and was fully prepared to stage a delightful encounter. As always with those type of mental scenarios it had gone very differently. She had indeed been there to await the vote but she herself was nowhere to be seen. In her stead the Presidiumlobby had been packed with a legion of lobbyists, reporters, policymakers and non-human officials.

Numbed and overwhelmed by the beehive, a young boy, who had introduced himself to be Janeways promovendus, had been there and asked me...

"...Holly, are you allright?"

With a shock, I'm brought back to the Universityhall. Everyone within a five foot radius has fallen still and is looking at me.

"...y-yes." I stammer "Please, excuse me".

I decide to join Mark at the buffet. Maybe he can be sociable for two.

As I head towards him I´m interuppted by a cheerful voice "Miss Caulfield! I'd thought I'd see you here." For a moment I didn't recognise him. "It's Daniel." He says, "We talked at admiral Janeways pressconference today? At the Presidium? I'm here in her place actually, she wanted to come but passed over the honour to me, always busy, you know." Apparently he thought that was funny so I join in his laughter with a slight chuckle. "I wish I'd seen you sooner, miss, I was just on my way out. I want to catch the New York-Spain hoverline and still need to key in some codes at the admirals house. She keeps herself updated with Oxfords periodicals and was especially intrigued by an abstract concerning cortisol levels in Klingon fetuses. She asked me to bring her the authorisationcodes for some of the research published at this symposium, she had genuinely intended to attend-Oh look at the time, I really must be going." He laughs apologetically and turns for the exit.

I´m somewhat overwhelmed by his waterfall of words but manage to break out of it. "Wait!" I exclaim a little too loud, "Let me join you." He swings back around and raises his eyebrows in a puzzled look.

"I have a taxishuttle booked for the evening and I have some books to return to her." I gave him my warmest smile to seal the deal and, judging on the naive look on his face, he wasn't too worried about the sincerity of my motive.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

"Computer, lights at 20%" I say. Finally the house reveals itself to me.

This isn't what I had planned.

The display had shown the first correct digit of Janeways doorcode as Daniel put his finger on the keypanel. I remember I had wondered how long it would take before Mark would find I was gone. I had left him at the event without any explanation of my sudden disappearance. In fact, I hadn't given my brain the opportunity to form a single rational thought so without further thinking I had hurried after the boy.

I'm not usually an opportunist; safe and predictable regularities are what I prefer. That motto has proven itself time and time again. It should therefore, not have come as a surprise that when we boarded the taxishutle Daniel shared with me she wouldn't actually be home. Just my luck. Apparently Janeway was drowning in her duties as spokeswoman of the Fleet. He was going to log onto her computer and enter the exclusive keycodes needed to view the files.

I had felt like a criminal as I watched his fingers fly over the panel until the system gave an assuring beep and the heavy door moved away in a welcoming gesture. The house had opened itself to us but I hadn't yet accepted its invitation. Daniel had been too much of a responsible boy to let in some stranger so he had asked me to wait outside. I had felt like some pimply intern who wasn't allowed into the sanctum sanctorum but complied none the less.

The faint moonlight had given little away of the interior and my eyes still hadn't used to this nights darkness. I was grateful that the street was empty and that no one was there to witness the rediculousness of the situation.

I had assured myself I would feel better once I had dropped off Daniel at the hoover-station and rejoined Mark at the conference.

But that's not what had happened.

I hadn't programmed the taxishuttle to return to the symposium.

Instead I now found myself standing in her hallway after having used the code I had seen Daniel use before.

I don´t know what I had expected, but the house felt remarkably sincere.

Green walls complemented the withered wood of the floor and furniture. I had assumed it would be tidier. Along the long and broad corridor stood cabinets full of mementos. Photo´s of smiling children and intimate events were scattered along the walls along with coathangers, clocks and Voyager's dented dedication plaque.

I reach to touch it but my fingers linger hesitantly as I realise the historical value of this piece of scrapmetal. If this thing could talk it would probably have legendary stories to tell.

In the centre of the lefthand wall was a paper note that read ´I am not embarrased when you pick me up from school.' It was a childish scribble on some ticket or leaflet.

On one of the cabinets stood a red vase, it had an ugly pattern and the daisies it held were past their peak.

The interior didn't feel designed or overly thought through. Things just happened to stand where they were and had no appearance to keep up.

As I walk down the hallway every step produces the typical clack of heeled shoes on wood. It occurs to me that I was leaving wet footprints on the floor; it had been raining since I had returned to the house for the second time. It didn't matter anymore though. I had taken the dive into the deep and my anxiety was trickeling down off me much like the raindrops had before.

I notice the house has a specific smell. It´s not a bad smell, not at all, and it´s not a chemical one either, it's just distinct. I can´t quite pinn it down, like a realisation is about to come to me but is too stubborn to indulge me with the knowledge.

It hits me that this isn't some modern admirals villa. This is Kathryns home. Hers and her family's. This is a house that is actively lived in, it forms the setting for lives daily struggles and is full of imperfections, hopes, dreams, personal knick-knacks and specific smells; a place where children grow up and parents grow old.

No one will notice wet footprints and no one will check the alarmlogs.

I reach heavy bifold doors on my left hand side, the wooden panels of which are adorned with colourful stained glass. Moonlight cascades through the ceilinghigh kitchenwindows and subsequently trickles through the intricate design of the stained glass, resulting in a playful patern of light squares on the hallway floor. It takes strength to slide open the tall doors as I step into the spacious kitchen. A bright holographic multimedia panel is still active. "Repeat last playback" I command.

_A good, or rather _great_ morning and a warm welcome to IDS__-Daily News. It is oh-nine-hundred hours and the chronometer keeps ticking as we countdown to what may be the long awaited answer to the Federations financial crisis._

As Janeway starts talking I stand in the kitchen. Lost and unsure of what I will do next. I move back into the hallway and into the livingroom-area that faces the bifold kitchendoors. A dimmed light jumps on and reveals a huge fireplace in the centre of the room, a large globe -ancient by the brownish and withered look of it- a book caroucel and two walls completely covered in bookcases. I walk over to the nearest one and tilt my head to read some of the titles.

Janeway keeps talking in the background.

_... is now 160% of the maximumdebt as formulated by the Bureau of Economic Stabilty and will have to be brought back to 120.5% over a course of 7 years. It is not the goal to make Kronos save it's liquid assets, but rather to..._

I pick a book at random and silently curse myself for doing so. I myself can't get past the first few pages of the tough stories and preffer the idea of reading over the actual reading itself. The intricate relief on the cover feels smooth under the touch of my fingers. _The Catcher in the Rye_ it reads. Pushed between two bookcovers is a pair of boxing gloves. Apparently the man of the house takes an interest in the violent sport. I sigh, amused at the cliché.

Another insight into Janeways new love interest is offered by a framed picture standing on a large decorated chest. It depicts Kathryn Janeway raising her glass at the photographer and a tall dark man, whispering something in her ear while affectionately burrying his nose in her hair. Being the unwelcome spectater that I am, the display of intimacy causes an akward wave of selfconciousness to take over me. I quickly slide my finger over the screen to shuffle to the next picture. It shows the same man and a boy, both undoing skis. Another shows Janeway sleeping in a rocking chair on a porch, a dog is sitting at her feet with his head laid lazily on her lap. An endearing photo is one where the tall dark stranger, much younger still, is sitting next to an old, crippled man who seems to be amused by something the dark stranger said and is plucking away at his clothes. I slide for the next image.

A tension spurts through my arms and into my chest as I stand frozen with my eyes locked on the photo. She has a picture of Mark. He's sitting next to her on a lawn with a brown labrador spread nonchalantly between them. They're smiling at the photographer. It's an old picture; Mark is less grey and Janeway is still in her captains uniform. Still, the image had been kept all this time and wether it was considered a relic, a joyful memory or just something she had had of earth while being on her awful journey, seeing Marks face in this dreamlike house, amongst things belonging to a world so unrelated to mine, feels like a betrayel.

Suddenly I feel deflated and dissapointed. Dissapointed with the house for being so unwilling to assure me of Janeways plainness. Dissapointed with myself for wanting to be assured of that. I look around the dimlit room and wonder what I am going to tell Mark, back at the conference.

My chain of thought is interrupted by a loud beep coming from the kitchen. I can still hear Janeway talk, but she had altered her tone. This time, her voice has more variations to it. I stand up and walk back into the hallway where I hold my breath in order to not miss a word she says.

_'We already reached a majority after the first vote, B'Ellanna will be pleased. I just wanted to let you know that it looks like I'm able to join you and the kids after all. I'll try and contact you directly, but if you hear this before you leave then don't wait for me, I don't want you to miss out on your sisters festivities because of me. I'll be packing some things and I should be with you on DS9. See you soon. Janeway out.' _

Suddenly, there's a muffled sound on the other side of the front door. My stomach turns at the realization that I am about to get caught.

Looking around me, I briefly consider hiding but figure that being found while in hiding would be even more embarrassing. There is no excuse for my presence and I brace myself for what's about to come.

The muffled sound grows louder and an ear-splitting crack echoes through the hallway. I cringe but take a few steps toward the door. I move my face closer to the entrancepanel. These are no ordinary sounds.

A loud bang startles me and I nearly slip on the smooth wooden floor. I weigh my options and choose to hide after all. As akward as it would be to get caught, I consider it safer to keep my presence a secret for now and buy time to seize up whoever is about to join me in these surreal, forbidden rooms.


	3. Kathryn Janeways POV

3. Kathryn Janeways POV

"Chakotay?!" I stand still to make sure I don't miss a possible response when I find my answer on the floor. "I thought you said wet footprints could ruin a laminated floor?!" He has awaited my arrival despite my telling him not to. The endearing thought expresses itself in an unfading smile. My mind is overflowing with todays succes and I am about to shamelessly relish in the unexpected joy of a family get-away. Prospects couldn't be better.

"Where are you?!" In my upbeat state of mind I have no intention of dealing with the mess so I hurriedly spread out the water with one foot and conveniently ignore that that doesn't have the desired effect. "Computer maximum lights." As soon as the hallway is fully lit I notice more footprints then just the three I had expected.

Curious, I walk into the kitchen while undoing my coat and notice the multimedia panel is still turned on. I bite my lip to hide my amusement at the thought of Chakotay walking off leaving the thing running. It had proven to be a daily recurrence. I had anticipated there to be unexpected guests which would explain the footprints and might be the reason for them still being here. Tom and B'ellanna are on an away mision so it couldn't be them. Perhaps Phoebe had come by to congratulate me on a vote gone well. I throw my coat on the kitchen table, knowing I would need it shortly, and head for the upstairs bedrooms. "Chakotay!?" I try again, louder this time. After opening a few doors and scanning some empty rooms it dawns on me that the house is indeed emtpy. Some toiletries are missing from the bathroom so they must have packed and left for Chakotay's sister, Sekaya, all as according to plan. A little disilliusioned about having to travel on my own after all I assemble some bare necessities in a travelcontainer on the bed and head down to get a fruity Beaujolaiswhine from the cellar -Sekaya's favorite. I reach the bottom step and turn for the cellar when I notice the as of yet unexplained footprints. I hesitantly follow the wet prints into the livingroom.

Something's off.

I step back towards the hallway to reevaluate my impulsive action but it's too late. A sudden force takes hold of me. Unwillingly, I clutch my arms and elbows tightly to my body when a strong arm rudely finds its way around my throat. It pulls me backward onto a tall, broad chest as I try to break free from the clench. My wriggling is to no avail due to the assailants overwhelming strength.

There are strange men in my house. At least two of them. My first thought is clear: the kids are fine, they're lightyears from here and Chakotay is with them.

I try to reach for something, anything, behind me, but I can't manage the awkard angle. The arm tightens and someone seems to be dimming the lights, one by one. I deperately try to cry out some demanding exclamation, but I only manage a bellowed groan. The arm doesn't seem to end in a hand that I can scratch, all I feel is thick fabric which my nails can't pierce through.

From an early training at the academy I remember that it takes about ten seconds to render a person unconscious once their carotid arteries are cut off.

I see nothing but darkness now and a tingling feeling is expanding from behind my eyes. I only have a few seconds left.

My mind is racing efficiently and at full capacity. Think, stay awake, what could be of help?

The footprints were still wet so they hadn't been here very long. They were tall, very much so. They're not Hirogen -I'm in the Alphaquadrant. The arteries under my jaw are about to explode and my forehead tightens. They might be Cardassian, no, not tall enough. Klingon? I feel like I have been hanging upside down. I've felt like this before. Mere seconds now. The voices don't sound familiar. Had I seen anyone? In about six hours Chakotay will be looking for me on DS9, that is, if he checks his inbox on the way there. He usually doesn't. I recognise the Klingon language. I hadn't noticed any damage to the front door, then again, it had been dark and I had been in a hurry. Klingon, they are definitely Klingon. I have to assume he'll stop choking me once my body goes lifeless. I probably wont be out long so the men will have to act fast once I do. If I let myself dangle he may let go too early. There are no weapons in this house and there's no main computer that can be ordered vocally to signal someone of my distress. There are tiny drops of saliva on my lower lip. The intrudors have to be gone by the time the kids come home, that's the main priority. Hang still, just hang still. If I get the chance I'll head for the sliding door that leads out onto the yard, it's quicker and makes a short route into the neighbouring garden. If only I had more time...desperate for more time. I wonder if I'm going to hit the floor.

I wonder who will miss me during the next four days...

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

"Where are you?" Chakotay catches me off guard. "Miles away." I admit as I turn to the shuttleschedule. "Our departure isn't listed yet, we'll be here for a while." He says.

I don't mind the delay and welcome some extra time for just the two of us. We sit down on a double seat in the centre of the crowded station. People from all over the planet gather in this hub and hurry from one transport to the other, trying to catch a newsupdate, cultural vid or quick snack before getting on the mainline to DS9. The place is anonymous and crowded at the same time. I like it, expecially in the state of mind that I'm in which, I suppose, would be best described as melancholic. I want to share an intimacy with Chakotay who feels distant and whose mind is obviously at least as far away as mine had been before.

"They'll be fine with it. " Out of the blue, he repeats the conclusion to countless conversations that we had had over the last months. "They'll be shocked like they have every right to be." He sighs. "But they'll be fine with it none the less."

He takes my hand in his and holds it in his lap. My hands are cold, like they so often are now that we are back on Earth and less often in controlled environments. He has taken up the duty of cupping my hands in his and blowing his warm breath onto them. He mindlessly repeats the ritual now and puts my hand back down on his lap where it lingers.

"I know they will," I say. He looks at me for assurance, assurance that we both desperately need. "I know they will." I repeat.

We are on our way to Voyager for what will be our last deep space mission. It has been six weeks since a beamingdevice registred the extra heartbeat in my abdomen. Unwilling, no _unable_ to depart with our lifestyle, we had kept the unavoidable affair between ourselves. Our openly admitting our relationship, and the quick development it had undergone, was now long overdue. I'm not sure when or where exaclty it had happened, since these things are usually gradual, but with every day that we had spend in hiding, traveling Earth and giving in to pleasures we hadn't had for years, our affair had turned from a short gettaway that we would soon share with friends and family, into a secret pact that entailed the great confession that we were now about to give. It had all gone so naturally and time had flown by. At one point we realised that we were about to start a family while the crew was still under the impression we hadn't seen each other since our seperated departure from the last debriefing.

Most of our crewmembers had chosen to remain stationed on Voyager and would at least occasionally join in on missions. Our carefully built and protected community had somehow managed to remain intact and was now to be abandoned by our own choice. _Our_ choice; the two people who, by default, had always kept everyone together and safe, were now about to voluntarily leave.

So we are here, sharing a cold bench in a crowded station, miles from the lush resort where we had spent our last night in anonimity. I want this moment to never end and revel in the knowledge that nothing has yet changed and the community still seems intact. A monstrous digital clock hangs before us, high above the ground. Like Damocles' sword every changing number is an unforgiving judgement and execution at the same time.

I feel tears welling up and and look away, not wanting to stain the moment. Chakotay squeezes my hand, perceptive as he is. "Tell me something" I say softly. I sound like I have a cold. He shoves closer and puts an arm around me. He holds me tight and the gesture seems to induce a steady flow of tears. "I'll tell you something," He says and kisses my temple. "The next three months will fly by and when we're back in Indiana we'll buy that house. The one with the stained glass and the wooden doors." I chuckle and sniff. "That _is_ a nice house." I whisper. "We'll fill it with children,... and dogs,... and the smell of coffee." I smile at his suggestions. "And we'll stay in bed on sundays, doing nothing but solve the puzzles of the Sunday'Weekly-uploads. And whenever Voyager is in dock we'll invite the crew over for barbeques and tennis." I smile as he whipes the tears from my face. "It's just the hormones, you know." I assure him. "I know." he responds in a playful manner. "But it sounds like a _good_ life." I say. We share a smile and continue watching the unrelenting clock that has now lost some of its power. I like it here on the bench with Chakotay. The finity of our shared moment makes the seconds all the more precious. The hour on the clock finally changes unceremoniously and we get up to leave.

I look back at the bench but in the movement I find that my shoulder hurts badly. I want to stay. I can no longer feel Chakotays arm around me and I start forgetting the colour of the bench. I don't want leave. The hum of the crowd changes to an incessant tapping that pulls me into consciousness like a rude alarm clock. _I don't want to leave. _

My shoulder must have slid out of its socket. I'm cuffed too high above the floor. So high that my right shoulder lingers mere centimeters above the ground. My upperbody dangles clumsily and heavily on my righthand.

Some vague person is standing over me and I blink in an attempt to sharpen my vision. Unfortunately he remains a blurr. I can tell he is unpatiently tapping a foot right next to where my head is laying on the floor. My floor. I'm still at home. Where was I before?

A thousand knives cut through my arm and wrist as I lean on my left elbow and let the blood flow freely through the previously cut off limb. I roll my shoulder and am relieved to find it's in its right place after all.

"Welcome back admiral." The figure says. A deap voice chuckles from afar.

"Get...Out...Of my...House." My voice lets me down, it's raspier than I anticipated.

"We will once you grant us a favour."

I sit up in an attempt to asses the situation. I realise they chained me to the grill above the fireplace in my livingroom and instinctively grab for the poke. Unfortunately my assailant had expected that and had removed the potential weapon.

"That's no way to treat a guest, admiral" he says flatly and unmoved. He sounds foreign.

With my hand still on the empty poke-hanger I rest my head against the plastered side of the chimney, welcoming its support. Closing my eyes for a moment I try to regulate my breathing. Adrenaline is raging through my veins and my heart is pumping frantically. _Find focus, breathe, centre your mind_; Chakotays face appears in a flash. He has no idea of this. I take a deep breath and brace myself. It had been a while since I had last needed to perform little excercises like these but they still proved effective.

Apparently they know I'm an admiral. There are no uniforms or rank bars in this room so they probably knew me since before they had come in. This was no random robbery. It would be idle hope to think they had only just recognised me.

I would be more comfortable if I were at a more equal level with the intrudor so I decide to raise myself up on the grill and stand straight. I'm not surprised to find I only come up to his shoulders. Now that we are mere centimeters apart he remains still as a statue and doesn't step back to respect both our personal spaces.

"Get out of my house." My commandvoice has returned. He exhales and looks me straight in the eye.

I'm relieved to find he's not Klingon but unfortunately a second intrudor who I caught pacing inpatiently up and down the hallway, is. He takes large, neanderthal steps while carelessly throwing in looks of disdain whenever he passes the open door. The Klingon is a clear heap of agression and strength. One knew what he was dealing with at the first glance.

This peculiar man in front of me is a whole different story. He's rather lean, has beady, blue eyes and his white-blonde eyebrows are set in a straight, horizontal line. His face is covered in a tattoo that lines his skull like a drawn on schematic. Detailed teeth cover his lips and cheeks. It makes a sharp contrast with his pale skin and goes down at least to his chest- and collarbone, which is as far down as I can see. His whole attire is pitch black and he wears heavy boots that are laced up to his knees. I can't find anything from which I can deduct his intention. He's bald and it occurs to me that he looks somewhat like a corpse.

"Like I said" He has a surprisingly low voice "...we need a favour." As he speaks the painted on teeth move organically like teeth aren't supossed to. He has a specific French accent that gives his bony appearance an extra sharp edge.

"This is unacceptable." I say "Leave." I consciously move nothing but my upperlip knowing full well that my steady face gives me an air of steadfast determination and might help me get through to him. I don't like to loose eyecontact but decide to quickly scan the room anyway. They had pulled all the furniture aside, presumably to keep me from reaching for anything. Even the rug had been rolled up. Telling off rowdy sounds coming from the kitchen, there is a third person rummaging through the cabinets.

My right arm started tingling due to the newly restored bloodflow so I roll my shoulder once again. To camouflage this sign of weakness and regain my composure I straighten my back and raise my chin.

"I believe a Starfleet officer should negotiate and compromise." The corpse says and he tilts his head slightly as he moves to my side, slowly and alertly. His posture reminds me of a panther who approaches his pray with the elegance of a ballerina but with a sinister promise of death common to predators. Even his eyes have catlike characteristics.

"You breaking into my house and chaining me is unacceptable, there is no room for negotiation." Presenting him with set facts might make him resign or at least acknowledge his attempts are pointless.

He's not pleased with this daring reply and expresses his frustration by letting out a sharp breath of disdain. I can feel the breeze in my neck. He's probably unstable so I decide to annoy him as little as possible. I turn my face to look him in the eye once again and continue in a softer voice "Whatever it is you're after, this is the least effective way of attaining it."

"We'll see" He hisses.

"Starfleet doesn't pay for hostages." I try calmly. "They will make use of all their resources in rescueattempts but they never give in to demands." My rationalizations preoccupy my brain and absolve my fear. "Let me go. I don't know you, you can still get away."

The Klingon must've heard for he turns away with a loud grunt. I had known it was likely to fail on him. Klingons went through with whatever mission they took on, considering failure or voluntary retreat an utter disgrace. As for the corpse, he looks like he means business as well.

"_We_ know _you_ though." He says, still breathing down my neck. "I know you have two little ones." He paused before adding in a whisper "I especially like the girl." I had tried to hold his gaze but couldn't help to shortly avert my eyes at that remark.

"Tell me their names" He continues.

"Get out my house." I repeat.

"Are their names worth bleeding for?" He had tilted his head to scrutinize my face and see what effect this threat would have on me. He is seizing me up. Had he been a snake he would launch his slithering tongue at me. I felt his body oozing cold air. They definitely haven't been here long.

"Get out of my house." I repeat again.

He stepped back. "I see..."

With our eyes locked on each other as if connected by a string, he made a half circle around me. His piercing blue eyes and white eyeballs stood out from his with ink accentuated eyesockets. He ressembled a panther in every way but beauty and dignity. Sitting down on the sofa that had been shoved aside and now stood in a diagonal position, he takes a rosary from his pantpocket and lets the beads glide through his fingers, the tiny cross hangs over his bony knuckels. I immediatly recognise it as my greatgrandmothers -where had I kept the thing?

"I need you to cancel the reforms" he says plainly.

"I can't, it's out of my hands." I have a feeling there should be more to his demands; he couldn't honestly think I have the influence to undo the complex process that was already set into motion. "There is no way, I simply don't have the power."

A loud clattering sound comes from the kitchen. "They sincerely hope you do." he says, nodding toward the door. The insinuation is a clear threat, just like the rosary is.

"I told them you would cooperate before I needed to let them take a crack at you. I have to tell you though, I hope you keep some funky utencils in there because they can get quite creative." His blue eyes glisten at the prospect.

Chakotay had better get here before they find whatever they consider to be of some sick use. I look at the door, wishing it would reveal him and none other, but the inane thing is untouched by my plea.

On voyager we had always been in close proximity of each other; the crew, the senior-staff, the command team; all in constant knowledge of the others whereabouts. The short lines connecting us had no longer been of a geographic or physical nature now that we were permanently stationed on Earth. I had felt this loss of security before but the new joys of familylife had easily outweighed this unatainable sense of safety. Standing here, utterly alone and a prisoner in my own home, I long for Voyagers internal sensors and the awareness of having my capable friends nearby.

He sighed. "Why don't you make this easy on all of us and do as your told. We'll be out before you know it and you can still save that wet floor you mentioned before. Sorry about that by the way, they're such rascals." Another threat. He winked in a flamboyantly but the painted on teeth and horizontal eyebrows remain fixed.

I sigh. The punk is getting cocky.

"I wonder," I try a different approach. "...what is it exactly _you _don't like about the reforms? With them it's obvious. I can think of dozens of policy changes Kronos has to make on the Federations behalf, and they may all be reasons for them to revolt." He was playing with my inherited rosary, much like a spoilt child, and didn't bother to look at me. "What's in it for you?"

He chuckled and clicked his tongue in a patronizing manner "Don't pry, admiral. It's bad manners."

"What exploration vessle have you invested in? What research project will be cancelled before you can pluck the fruits of whatever insight you were hoping for? I wonder..." The thought of his bad predicament being caused largely by my doing gave me a shamefull sense of retribution.

"Would it ease your mind if you knew?" He rolled the rosary in his hand and let the delicate cross dangle back and forth.

"It might." I wonder if I was getting somewhere or if he was just playing me.

"I don't want the Klingons to join the Federation. They're so loud." He threw his head back laughing but set his face in a deadly serious look the very next second. The horizontal eyebrows never wavered from their place and the cross was still dangling in a steady rythm.

"If that were true than I would consider it a personal victory that you were working together with them on behalf of this little act of terrorism."

At this he collects the cross and repositions himself on my sofa "Terrorism?" He asks with his thick accent that from now on will be the reference for every future French I am to hear "What an interesting choice of words." I had triggered something. I'm just not sure what it was.

He opens his mouth to speak but at that moment a beep fills the room alerting us that someone is at the door.

I must've looked up hopefully because before getting up and exiting the livingroom the corpse snapped "Optimism doesn't suit you, _admiral_."

I try to make the most of my time alone and inspect the handcuff. It's a crude old thing that's obviously not built for slender wrists like mine. The bolt can't be locked by the lever to prevent it from tightening so the round piece of cold metal was simply pushed through past the last detent. Unfortunately my hand can't slide through, I trt several times but fail miserably. If necessary I could try to break my thumb but decide against it for now. I pin down my action radius and find that nothing of signifance is within reach.

There has be _something_ I can do.

I stand leaning against the fireplace and let the situation sink in for a while. In an epiphany I dig my free hand into the ashes of the firepit. Chakotay hates to throw away things and sometimes burns old pieces of furniture, a nail of some sort could have gotten lost in there.

As I'm mucking around in the fine ash I hear a panicky whisper from somewhere closeby.

_"Hey... admiral...you don't know me, but I know you.__"_


	4. Mark Johnsons POV

4. Mark Johnsons POV

"_Clarify?_!" With a balled fist I contain the flow of insults that threaten to escape my mouth. "I'll _clarify,_ then; like I told your baboon-friend here, I checked the memory of my wife's taxishuttle and it says she's arrived here at twenty-one-hundred-seventeen hours, _that's only_ _minutes ago._ I'm not leaving without her and if you don't step aside I _will _hail the emergencyservices." I'm done being told off by this moronic duo. The pale skeleton is a sorry excuse for a man, and whatever voodoo-business he has going on inside is of less then zero importance to me. What could she want here?

"_Holly?!"_ I yell passed them. I hadn't noticed her dissapearance until the great hall had been almost empty. I'm worried sick, angry and in no mood to explain to them my wifes sudden disappearance.

"Just let me through!" I push passed them and take a decisive steps into the house. I'm surprised it's not some junky dump like I had envisioned based on the appearance of the skeleton at the door. It's in fact an upscale house. It doesn't add up.

Feeling the urgency of finding Holly increase I yell "Well, _*where*_ is she?!"

I look back at them and notice them exchange a meaningful look. The Klingon closes the door and I can feel the skeletons glare pierce right through me. "This loving man wishes to see his troubled wife." My anger was making way for distrust and his reassuring words didn't have the intended effect. "I think we should oblige him, don't you?"

I shouldn't have barged in like this.

The Klingon steps forward and grabs me by the neck. My bodymass is nothing compared to his and even in my enraged state I wouldn't have had the strength to resist his coercive force.

I almost tripp over my own feet but manage to stumble after him. He pushes me through a dooropening on my righthand side. The room I'm in is in a state of utter chaos.

I still try to appear enraged but my voice waivers "Let go of me, nutcase." Pulling my shirt straight I give him an abusive look to compensate for my restricted vocabulary of insults. As I squeeze the pain out of my neck I notice a dainty woman in the centre of the room. She's covered in dirt and fits the cluttered room in her overall dishevelled state.

_No...-_that couldn't be. "Kath-.."

_"Kath?!"_ I blurt out incredulous. I shift on my feet and cover my mouth in disbelief. The unexpected nature of the visit causes a shortage in my brain. "How did-how can you..." I take a step in her direction. She looks exactly the same and yet so immensely different from what I remember. "_Kathryn"_ It's not a question this time. Her name is a statement. One I hadn't made in a long time. The name sounded both unreal and familiar but felt so good to pronounce, like stepping under a warm shower after having been in the rain.

Menacing looking men are circling her, they're shouting, but...her eyes are looking right at me. She's right here. She's holding an ash-covered hand in an upward position, in a way that no one else can mimick; her petite posture and her vulnerability paradoxed by her strong presence.

"You can't even begin to imagine, Kathtryn..you have _no_ idea..." I close the distance between us and hold her face in my hands. The universe had taken its insane way with her and has brought her back to this very place. Brought her back to me. I feel the need to gasp for air.

The skeleton is waving at her stained face now "Like I said, she did that to herself." He keeps talking and talking, because how could he possibly understand? She had been gone. Dead and mourned. And now I'm holding her again. Finally.

I let my fingers caress her cheeckbone and touch her lips with my thumb, needing to check my memory of her with the reality that is in front of me. She is exactly what I remember her to be, yet so much more real. So much more _her_.

"It's you." I conclude with a whisper.

"It's me." She says.

"Your hair is different." I let a strand slide through my fingers. "I waited so much longer than most people did. Oh, I just..." I cup her face again and feel like I need to repeat her name as often as possible "Goodness, Kathryn, you're really here" I sob. My vision becomes cloudy and I realise that my eyes are filling with tears.

"Mark, _listen _to me." her demeanor changes. She's about to take control and border my emotional outburst.

I can't help but smile through my tears. I had forgotten how it made me feel when she was about to do her thing -take the lead with natural authority, hoover above a complex situation like a helicopter, be obsessively passionate about some algorithm...extort my admiration.

I gladly give in.

"It i_s_ me Mark, you _found_ what you came here for." What is she telling me? I panic; the guilt that comes with realising she thinks I came looking for herrenews the trampled guilt for moving on after Voyager's departure, for finding another love, for living my life and not writing her of undying love once communication with her ship had been restored.

She had deserved it all but had gotten none.

"Do you _understand_ me, Mark?" She says. "I know I shouldn't have left without you, but I couldn't tell you were I was because these men are holding me against my will."

She doesn't think I came for her, she knows full well I hadn't come for her.

If only I had. If only I could tell her I had come to comfort her, that I had never abandonned our vows and had remained loyal.

The situation is clear to me though; I am to play along and we are both in serious danger.

I only now notice the handcuff. "Oh, no-" I let my hand slide from her cheek to her shoulder, from her shoulder to her arm and down her arm to her maimed wrist. I cover the red skin with my hand that is huge in comparison. In my mind I make a solemn pledge _this time, I will be here_.

"What did they do, Kath?" I whisper.


	5. Kathryn Janeway s POV

5. Kathryn Janeway's POV

We've reached an impasse.

Mark was made to sit down on a kitchenchair after the seat and elbow-rests had been covered with Chakotays strong glue, meant for making furniture. They must have found it in the cupboard under the stairs.

Regardless, Mark is immobilized and could become a liability; he talks too much and the skeleton might see through the ruse of my being the wife he had come looking for. It´s vital he remains under that impression for if he is to find I'm not her, he'll know Marks actual wife is around somewhere.

When Mark had been making a convenient hassle at the door I had stumbled upon something unexpected in the fireplace; Holly's feet. Chakotay had designed the chimney himself which accounted for it being unusually large. Still, Holly isn't going to be able to remain there for long. She has to awkwardly stand on a stone ridge to keep her feet from showing.

How Marks wife had become stranded in my chimney was still a mystery to me. None the less, I was glad she was there for she might be our only chance of a rescue. I just need to create a window of opportunity for her to sneak out and get help. The skeleton and his Klingon minions need to step out. I could invoke an argument so they have something to quarrel over. Then again, picking a fight with two angry Klingons might not be the best idea either.

The Skeleton had put me on a chair opposite from Mark, hand still cuffed to the grill. One of the Klingons leans dangerously against the fireplace, the other had taken position behind the misplaced sofa.

Now that the intensity of the situation had somewhat toned down I'm free to experience the nostalgia the man in front of me represents. He has less effect on me than I would have anticipated. I remember my anxiety at lending Chakotay my copy of 'Inferno'. Mark had given it to me and it was of great value. It had however catalysed a playful persuit on Chakotays part, one I hadn't been prepared for.

"La Vita Nuova?" I ask in surprise. "It's from the same writer," he says "Dante? I figured it a safe gift seeing you liked his 'Inferno'". I free the book of its fabric wrapping "_The New Life,_ huh? I don't suppose this has something to do with my near death experience during our away mission?" I look at him mischieviously as he tugs his ear. "You do realise this isn't actually about new life but rather the anguish of love?" He smiled and shook his head in defeat as if I had played a prank he hadn't seen coming. "Is that so?" He asks. "Hmm-mm," I confirm "...the girl dies..." His eyes flicker to mine in an attempt to make contact and check the possible damage his gift has done. Relieved to find he's being teased he replies "Well, that's not good." He gently frees the book from my hands. "I'll have to come up with a more cheerful gift then. Got a favorite flower, captain?" I lean in close to reach for the book. "Oh, but I'll have that book." He moves back as if unwilling to hand it over but gives in as he realises the turbolift comes to a halt. "Well?" He asks as we step onto the bridge. I feel cornered. He wants to give me flowers? I can't go along with this. "Wouldn't that be the day" I joke.

The rose he gave me later that afternoon still adorns the hallway.

"Are you comfortable?" The Skeleton asks.

"Thank you. Yes." Being civil may counter his objectifying me. It could remind him of my humanity.

"Will you cancel the reforms?" The skeleton leans, hands on his knees, and holds his face right next to mine.

"I told you the truth, I_ can't _cancel them. Now that the vote has taken place it's no longer Starfleets decision, let alone mine." As is common to man, one thinks most explicitly of a thing when he tries hardest not to think of it. I am fully aware of how to undo the laws that are currently in the making since it was only this morning that I expressed the conditions to which Kronos is to abide. Staging Chancellor Mo´Ros hadn´t honoured them wouldn´t be difficult for he enjoyed but little trust among Federation officials.

"I'm sorry." I add.

"What do you think, Mark, is she full of it?" I see Mark curling down the corners of his mouth and hastily shaking his head.

"In the end, everyone talks." The skeleton says conclusively. "Might as well start now that your reflection is yet unchanged."

He pauses, thinking. He steps over to Mark and also bends down next to him. "You won't recognise her once we're done with her. You want an ugly wife?" I can see Marks larynx take a deep dive as he swallows. "_Et alors?"_ He spits sharply. "Tell her you don't want her to be a hero." Every word is precisely pronounced and laced with the heavily French articulation.

"Kathryn, don't be a hero." Mark immediately complies. "Why don't you try to reach members of the Council. You could talk to them, right? No one can blame you -nor will a judge." His inquisitive look is filled with honest confusion.

"We'll sort it out later." he adds in a hushed tone as if he were confiding in me alone and no one was there to overhear us.

The skeleton moves to stand behind Mark and lets his hands rest on his shoulders. He pleads his case through Mark.

"I cannot talk anyone out of this." I say.

Mark has always preferred theoretical experiments of the mind over practicality. He is a man of reason and being the philosopher that he is, he sees dialogue in the form of debate as the ultimate way to apply and cultivate knowledge. I doubt if he has ever been in a crisis situation like this.

"Isn't all governmental policy constantly monitored? It's designed to be flexible, right?" Mark tries carefully. "Surely it can be altered by _someone_?" His speech is unsure, he's obviously affraid to offer ideas since he has no clue of what's at stake.

"Not by me it can't." I say knowing it would leave Mark defeated.

"Perhaps you just need some practice in compliance, _admiral_." The last word is said with all the contempt the French voice could muster. With a snap of his fingers he gives the Klingons their long awaited clue, almost as if he possessed Q's omnipotence. The one on the sofa pipes up quickly and takes a swing at me so hard the chair falls sideways.

I hit my head against the plastered chimney and feel the rough surface scrape my skin. "HEY! _..._ STOP IT!" I hear Mark yelling. My body once again weighs down on my right hand but the strong hand that cast me down to the floor pulls me back up and sits me down again. My face feels stiffened. I move my mouth and countless facial muscles to explore the severity of my bruised face. I feel tiny grains of plaster on my badly scafed skin. The taste of blood fills my palet. A result of the punch no doubt. Checking if my teeth are undamaged I let my tongue explore and find an upper tooth chipped.

"_Real_ brave, the three of you against one chained woman, you feel like _real _men now?!" Mark isn't up to this. ".._fuck_.." He adds under his breath. "_Kath?_ Can you speak?" he had reddened and his eyes look drained of hope. He had always felt protective of me. He's panicking.

"Chakotay will be here soon. Don't worry." It's an obvious bluff but I wonder if Mark is still sharp enough to bear with me. Beads of sweat form on his forehead and his eyes flicker from person to person. "Who?" He says under his breaths. "Oh, _Chakatay,_ right_,_..._good_."

I sigh in defeat and our assailants laugh at his silly mistake.

The throbbing in my face has already accumulated into an agonizing headache. "Untill he does though, these men have some questions to...loosen you up a bit." The bald panther leaves us to the mercy of his companions as I hear him stamp up the stairs.

The Klingon who had hit me drags a decorated blanketchest into my proximity, sits down on it, and holds his ridged face next to mine like the skeleton had before. The delicately decorated chest had been an anniversary gift and for it to be used in this way felt unfair and unjust.

"_Oh come on_." Mark sobbed "..what are you doing now?" I try to keep Marks eyes on me but he is bewildered en distracted.

"Think of the one thing you don't want him to know," The Klingons long, glorious hair waves lightly in response to a sharp nod in Marks direction "...admiral Kathryn from the House of Janeway."

"..you will have screamed it by the time the sun rises."


	6. Mark Johnson s POV

6. Mark Johnsons POV

"How was your father named?" The Klingon asks her.

She is calm. " 'Dad' ." She says.

"Now you answer me this," she continues boldly. "What is your bony friend _really_ after?"

"I...ask the questions" is the Klingons reply.

"It's not to put a halt to the reforms, he knows that's not how Federation politics work."

Without notice the Klingon takes another swing at her and she is violently thrown back. If it hadn't been for the handcuff she would probably be lying on the far end of the room. The Klingon is unmoved by her outcry and calmly gets up to gather the chair en puts her back on it. As soon as she is in an upright position I see the beat has cut her eyebrow and blood is pooring from the open gash. She is breathing slowly but heavily.

"Ours is a more decentralized government then yours." She persists, I don't know whether it is bravery or stupidity that drives her but I fear for her wellbeing none the less. "..._Kathryn,"_ I try "..._just_," Just what? What would I have her do? Regardless, I can't get through to her, her eyes are set steadily on the dark, ridged face beside her. Even though the blanketchest is a lower seat then hers, he is at eyelevel with her. They are so much out of proportion that they look as though a father were disciplining his daughter.

"Our Council is vastly different from your Klingon High Council where one chancellor's influence can change the course of the whole species -_he_ knows this," She thrusts her chin upward to show she means the skeleton on the first floor. "...he's playing you. His demands are outrageous, he might as well ask for-"

The Klingon calmly takes a large steakfork from his belt and holds it above her left upper leg.

"I...ask the questions." He says again.

"_Hold it_, just hold it for a minute. Let's think this through, I'm sure we can find a solution here," I say, but no one pays attention to me. The two mainplayers in front of me are stuck in a power struggle, the fork being the price, their eyes being the battlefield. It's not a fair game, but she plays none the eyes are set on each other and the silence between them seems to drain all oxygen from the room. "This is barbaric," I try "Where's the honour in this?" I look at the second Klingon in the room but he too pays me no heed. I drop my head to my chest in defeat but raise it again in defiance. "Oh _come on._" I'm out of breath. "..._fuck..."_

"You're in control." she says finally.

His mouth shapes into a smirk but he seems unconvinced of her earnestness.

"My fathers name is Edward." He's content with that submission and removes the fork away from her leg. It's more like her to cut straight to the point but I could tell she had changed her strategy and decided to humor the steadfast alien. "What do you want me to say?" Her tranquil willingness is an indirect way of taking away their power and along with it their leverage. I figure she would rather play a psychological game for it would take them little effort to break her physically.

"What is the most pain he has ever caused you?"

Finally, she shifts her eyes to me, eyebrows raised in surprise. She has agreed to playing at higher stakes than she had initially anticipated, I can tell.

"He..." She started.

"Do not tell me, Kathryn daughter of Edward," He paused shortly "...tell _him_."

At this she loweres her bloody face. The thick, red liquid still comes trickling down her face and has shaped a dark stain on her blouse. I can tell her eyelashes cling together. With her free hand, she wipes blood away from her mouth.

After a deep breath she raises her head and I can see her conviction. Like a martyr, a Spartan ready to fight to the death, she faces me and the realisation hits me; she had commited to the game, and now she was going to play. Disregarding the caution with which she would have to construct her sentences to keep up the ruse of being my wife, she wasn't going bet on my acting abilities. She was going to be truthful.

I can't blame her, I too would prefer this challenge over the steakfork. I just hope she knows what she's doing.

"You...you got over me." She says quietly.

It breaks me.

I know it's the truth and so it breaks me. I don't want to make her already hard game even more difficult by showing her my pain but my sight clouds with tears and I can't help but inhale in short intervals -I know she will recognize the sobs regardless of my fruitless attempt to hide them.

For years I have tried to convince myself with hollow excuses, the most prominent being that I didn't owe her my happiness no matter how crudely she had been taken away. Of course, I had fully realized that it had taken me little over two years to move in with Holly, _two years_, where Kathryn and I had been in a relationship for almost six but had still lived separately. Or perhaps we were living together in two houses. Whichever it was, more then two years should have passed before permanently moving in with Holly.

I had read the publicized versions of Voyagers debriefings and had calculated that, while I was selling her dog Molly due to Holly's allergies, Kathryn had been battling mind controlling aliens that had appeared to them as loved ones. I can still remember the exact words:

_'Captain Janeway tried for engineering but fell victim to the aliens persuasions who used the memory of her fiance this name has been removed due to privacy reasons to render her immobile in the turbolift.'_

Reading it had made me sick.

When contact with Voyager had been restored I was kindly requested to report to Headquarters. Once I arrived in the lobby I recognised the familymembers of Kathryns crew. I sat down next to Shannon, wife to Lieutenant-Commander Cabbot, Voyagers first officer. We had grown close after Voyager had gone missing, somehow the invisible threshold between senior officers and their subordinates had stretched all the way to Earth. We didn't speak. We didn't need to. We were about to be liberated from the ignorance that had plagued us for years. The ignorance that had once led us into each others arms looking for comfort, comfort that, as we soon realized, wasn't there to be found.

That day I heard Kathryn was alive. It meant that my daliance with Shannon had been a betrayal rather then just a way to cope. Not only had I moved on and moved in with Holly, I had slept with another woman within weeks after Voyagers departure; deranged by loss and desperate to stop the pain.

This Hirogen network that facilitated our communication was a break through and a victory on Kathryns part. She must have been eager to finally read of love and devotion again, eager to read a letter that would say 'My dearest Kathryn' in the header rather than 'Captain', a letter of hope and future promise - a letter I couldn't write. At the first chance I got to offer my fiance the comfort she needed during the most demanding time of her life, I had simply stood her off. Her years had been harder then mine, but I still wouldn't offer the consolation. Instead I had selfishly turned to other women and had simply...gotten over her.

She is right. And so it breaks me.


	7. The Skeletons POV

7. The Skeletons POV

I stand in front of a big bronze buste of an ancient warrior.

I have a healthy respect for people with taste. Not class, that's just stylish elegance. Someone with taste however can appreciate what's truly worth looking at, what's worth listening to. Someone with taste can filter out the nonsense and the fakes.

Fakes like the spineless grey man downstairs who was barking like a little pet dog when he was at the door but withered away once the situation got real. Fakes like the empty-headed Klingons who believe that by busting up an admiral they will get their useless monetary award for military prowess on the battlefield. _Jamais à l'aise devant les gens faux, _the universe would be better off without the fakes.

Admiral Kathryn Janeway though, _she_ has taste. Perhaps not on the surface, it took me a while to recognise her for who she is; she´s married a fake and spends her days bickering with supposedly important, fake people. She has adapted to the world of fakes. But there is more to her, the warriorhead is proof of that. She admires the worn down, heroic warrior and understands that life is about surviving, about being stronger than the next. She can appreciate the beauty in that. It must be a tough lesson for her,_ cette petite femme-là_. While she prevails in the fast world that has forgotten values like unity, efficiency, strength and honesty, she still comes home to this little treasure and pays ode to its bold handsomeness. _Chapeau!_ Earlier, I had found the rosary; a first clue of Janeways unlikely depth. Too bad it's she behind these tedious, peace-keeping reforms. She is strong and quick-witted so she might hold out long but, _peu importe, _it won't matter. In the end she will perish and every Janeway-obsessed human will blame Kronos; a first in a series of carefully staged attacks that will ensure tension to rise between Kronos and the Federation. A tension that keeps bureaucrats sharp, provides heroes for otherwise spoilt children and reminds lazy people of matters truly important. The whole sector has fallen asleep to the lull of technology -people don't listen to each other anymore, they'd rather read their data padds and play with holograms. People have forgotten that it's wartime when a nation is shaped and strong characters are formed.

I find myself in Janeways bedroom and stare into her dressing mirror. I take off my black shirt and stand in awe of the tattooed art that is my reflection; I am no ordinary man who gives in to the superficial desires of life, I am the bare nessecity, I am bare to the bone and I will give mankind the enemy it needs to rise above itself.

I turn to the huge bed on top of which she has started packing -_putain!_ _she won't be missed for days. _We have time to create utter chaos. I might even explore the fascinations of this woman, who is worthy of the privilege, being the paradoxal little damsel that she is. I sit down on the bed and push my head forcefully into the pillow. I had been close to her downstairs and I can tell it smells like her -vanilla, cinnamon, I can't quite pin down the scent. As I sit up I open her nightstand and am riveted to find Plato's _'The Republic'_ -a book that acknowledges how every person has a place in society and should converge his lifegoal with the greatness of the state. The perfect state is one where every man's potential is optimally exhausted- truly riveting. In Plato's fantasy I would be the guardian of her intellect. Together we would improve our kind. I find my breathing quickens at my excitement. I will definitely take my time with this perplexing woman. I wonder how much of her intriguing life she has left to live.

Bare chested and impassioned I head back down but before I reach the stairs one of the senseless Klingons bumps into me and with one arm pushes me against the wall. _"Zut Alors! _What do you think you're doing?!" The inferior soul needs to be straightened out.

"YOU, you knew she cannot undo the new laws, you knew of this..._decentralized_ Council!" he growls like an animal.

I'm amused to find she's managed to spread doubt in the soldiers heads. My admiration grows.

"The _madam_ has outsmarted you I hear." I say. For a moment he thinks I'm admitting my guilt but I correct him. "Do you have lard for a brain?! Of course she would say such nonsense, she tries to turn us against each other."

He holds tight and and lifts me off the floor. "HOW can I be sure of that?!" he threatens. Looking down on him he looks even more like a caveman than he already did. Calmly I say "..you want me to prove she's intelligent?" ..._d'accord._ "How about the fact that she is responsible for these reforms _ridicule_ and this whole sector, _including_ Kronos, adheres her in applying them. You have to be a cunning minx to execute such a scheme." Their puny minds are so easily misled.

"She's a tough one." The second Klingon joins us. "...or she speaks the truth and is unable to undo the vote."

"Trust me," I say, still pinned to the wall "...either _she_ will break. Or _we_ will break _her_."


	8. Chakotay POV

**8. Chakotay´s POV**

The memory of that period saddens me.

Perhaps it´s because everything had seemed to be set in stone.

The weeks had become indistinguishable from one another due to tiresome courthearings and endless inquiries. One day would flow into the next while Starfleet´s supervisory board, under strict supervision of the conscientious chairman Van Traa, would batter the vulnerable concept that was our innocence and morality. Like wielding a sledgehammer, Van Traa and his myriad of counselors had tried to disarm us and had relentlessly pounded on our most precious asset; our clarity of mind and the knowledge that our actions in the Deltaquadrant had been justified. We had often questioned and reevaluated our actions while on Voyager. We had done what we could, what we had deemed just, and what was humanly possible with the information and instruments we were given. I was convinced of that. The scrutiny of Starfleets critics however had proven to be more than she could handle.

Her selfdoubt had turned into a consuming certainty of failure. With every enumerating counselor, closely watched by us: the crewmembers who had been spared an excruciating scrutiny of this extend, we had seen her lose weight, color and passion. Her grey collar lay loose around her throat as if it too had submitted to the unceasing downpull, rather then to her decline in pounds. Eyes that had previouly hosted an electrifying spark had reduced to a mere pilot light. Even the strong contrasts between different tones of auburn had faded from her beautiful hair.

We knew it wasn't the counsellors that burdened her so severely, but rather her selfblame en morbid selfsacrifice; the achilles heel to her psyche.

Unable to decide over our own fate; time and circumstances fell upon us and kept rolling like an unstoppable boulder that comes thundering down a cliff. A cliff off which we all desperately tried to cling, in dire need of the unity and optimism we had experienced before disembarking. Our fingers were slipping though, as the irreversability of the damage became more difficult to deny with every enumeration that we witnessed, and with every week our captain, our front woman, was visibly withering away.

I look at her as she sits on the side of the bed. With her bare back turned towards me, she leans foward, elbows on upperlegs, leaving her arched back displaying leftovers from life and markings that her efforts to keep us all safe had resulted in. Her skin is draped loosely on the knuckles of her vertibrae that run down her back like a tired military line of survivors, unwillingly reporting for duty after an enduring battle. Just below her shoulderblades they are paralleled by a thin borg implant that had proven to do more good than harm and had been with her since her assimilation into the vast collective. Under her leftarm I see an alien brandmark that I recognise as the employeenumber the Quarrans had given her. The middle of her lower back holds a small, round scar that ties her forever to every Voyager crewmember since the Caretaker had drilled our spines in search of a medicin; a scar Sevens back was free of.

"This was a bad idea." Her voice is stoic and speaks in past tense. She must've sensed I was awake, I hadn't yet spoken or moved.

"You have a good chance at happiness..." she continues "...and your so desired peace of mind." There is no blame or anger in her words, I could get up and leave if I so wished and she wouldn't hold it against me. "You should go while you still have that chance." Her fingers play with dry tips of badly nurtured hair. She no longer straightens it but the curls that should have flourished are bound by greasiness and disregard. "She won't hear of this from me." She concludes beaten. I know the pronounciaion of Sevens name at this moment would taste like bile in her mouth.

I roll over and put a warm hand on her cold back. She shivers slighlty and tenses under my touch.

"I'm not going anywhere, Kathryn."

She turns to face me but I'm spared the defeated eyes I so clearly remember.

In stead I find myself looking at the vibrant face of my beautiful daughter. She is the clear resemblance of my wife; an altruist, a loyal, hard worker and a somewhat introverted perfectionist. She shares my brown eyes and Kathryns full hair.

"Are you awake, daddy?" She asks as she shakes my elbow slightly. Edwards feet are on my lap and we had both fallen asleep as we awaited our next transport.

"Someone's trying to reach you." Layla holds up my communicator and a clear beep alerts me of the lightened up symbol in the centre of the screen.

"Thank you," I tap the symbol and an unfamilar voice speaks up. "Chakotay! There you are, this is Frank Tabor from next door. Is everything okay over there?"

"What?" I ask in confusion. His voice is too cheerful for my still awakening mind. "Why wouldn't it be?" Layla had already returned to her game and I sit up to process what my neighbour is telling me. I hardly know the man. What could he possibly want?

"I thought I'd just check in to make sure everything's allright, you know?" Frank chuckled, somewhat embarrassed by his previous deliberation, as if his concern were exaggerated and utterly unnecessary.

Worried to be an incovenience he quickly gets to the point "It's just, there's some woman climbing down your conservatory and I don't think it's Kathryn."


	9. Mark s POV

9. Mark Johnsons POV

My jaw still hurts for moments ago it had been fixed in an expression of utter disbelief.

I had been in utter shock when Kathryn had yelled out Holly's name and my wife had come crawling out of the chimney. Holly had speeded towards the sliding doors that headed out to the garden but soon found they were locked tight. As Kathryn instructed her to take off her shoes in order to not leave ashy prints, she had frantically made for the front door. She had even tried the kitchen windows but everything had been locked with new codes before the menacing trio had headed upstairs. Kathryn would have to offer her iris or fingerprint to override the system. Being cuffed to the chimney had immobilized her however and as she was thinking up an alternative Holly had stood in the hallway, listening to them argueing over Kathryns insinuations. She had been succesful in planting the seed of doubt and in doing so had given us this fighting chance while they were bickering.

"Look in the cupboard under the stairs, there should be tools in there that can cut through these cuffs," Kathryn whispers. Holly already dissapears. When she returns she holds a small plasma cutter. Good, that will do. "Don´t bother using it on the windows; they´re enforced. Hand it to me -very good. Now; hide in the cubboard," Kathryn commands "when they're all in here, go upstairs and leave through the bathroom window, that's the first room to your right, it leads to a flat roof and from there you can climb down." I can see Holly is tense with adrenaline and her mind races to safely store the information she's given. "Can you do that, Holly?"

"Yes." My wife dutifully complies like an overachieving student eager to please a demanding teacher.

"Okay, It'll all be all right, Holly, just stay silent and wait until you're free to go upstairs, it's better to be silent than fast, do you understand that, Holly?" I can tell Kathryn's not yet finished but Holly already turns to do as she's told. "How will I know they're all in here?" She asks as she returns. "I'll yell..." Kathryn looks at me for a moment and replies "..one of us will yell _I can't believe this is happening_. Now go, be careful, you'll do fine." Kathryns tone is eerily calm and I can see that it has a positive effect on Holly. "I know you have guts otherwise you wouldn't be here" Kathryn winks at her but the meaning is lost on me.

"It's going to be okay, honey." I add and she reenters the room for a quick kiss. Stepping backwards into the hallway I can see that the severity of the situation overwhelmes her greatly.

"Don't yell for her to come out before these doors are closed, allright Mark? She'll never make it otherwise." I nod fastidiously.

As Kathryn starts working on the old cuffs, careful not to burn her hand, I wonder how often she's endured calamities like these. "I'm not blaming you for anything." She says. Even under duress she's considerate of me and she manages to devide her attention between me and the cuff. She even seems to manage it effortlessly. "I knew you must've moved on by the time you wrote that letter," with short intervals, she looks up from her work. She produces bright sparks but seems to know what she's doing. "I didn't like the finality of it, but rationally I knew that we weren't going to be together again." She looks up more intently as she says "It really was for the best."

"I'm sorry anyway." I say. She offers a small smile but I can't take to look her in the eye. Staring at her feet I tell her "I had started a letter that confided my love for you," My voice cracks at the word 'love', it's hardly pronounced but I know she'll understand. "Even that I would leave Holly if you'd want me to, but I just couldn't. I knew the object wouldn't be waiting for you in the decades to come, but freeing me of my guilt. It wouldn't be right. But I want you to know that, for days, I was torn, wondering which letter to send." It moves her.

"Thank you for telling me." She says. "I needed to receive that letter, you know."

I interrupt her "..you don't have to say anythi-"

"-No, really," she's adamant in her continuance "I needed to read that letter because it made me realise I was keeping you as a safetynet, one that kept me from opening up to others." I'm amazed at my simplicity but her reassurance shatters years of living with the horrible monster of my guilt. Hearing her side, hearing her letting me off the hook, may proof to be of a larger impact than all the peergroups, therapists and unofficial caregivers put together could ever be.

"I hold no resentment, no blame and there is no need to be sorry." She must think I've turned into a meak old man for my eyes are tearing up once again, but this time my tears come with a smile of relief.

"So you forgive me?" I ask.

"There is _nothing_ you need forgiveness for." My question hurts her.

"But if it helps, then of course, you have my full and free forgiveness."

I don't realise the thumps in the hallway growing louder as the intrudors come down the stairs. Thankfully she does and hurriedly shoves the plasma cutter in a pile of ashes in the fireplace.


	10. Officer Monroe s POV

**10. Officer Monroe's POV**

I step out of the black and blue policeshuttle and take in the suburban street. "Dispatch, this is the 3041, we've arrived at our destination and are about to take a look." It´s a calm neighbourhood. Old trees adorn the sidewalk and the large houses are delicately furnished with green lawns and an occasional porch.

_"Copy that, keep me informed."_

The red bricked house seems to have earned its place in history as it's in part overgrown with roses. This night's blackness melts with the dark slates of the roof.

Bridges walks around the shuttle to join me and whistles his appreciation for the stately mansion to which we are dispatched. "...Nice" he adds.

No longer am I surprised at harsh incidents that take place behind closed doors, even doors that are carefully painted, maintained and seem to attest to the stability and normality of the familylife it keeps hidden. My career with the force has provided me with enough sceptisism to approach even this one with healthy caution.

A light jumps on as I approach the front door and force my finger eagerly on the button that will hopefully alert the admiral of my presence. A long silence follows.

"She's the one that planted that computervirus directly into the Borgqueen." Bridges face betrays his excitement as he shares his admiration with me. Unwilling to get caught in his unproffesional gossip I wave it off absentmindedly and step back towards the shuttle. "...yeah, I've heard. I'm going to request a scan to see if there's someone in the house." A wet puddle reminds me of the rain that fell earlier this evening as I move down the frontdoorstep and stand with one boot in its watery mudd.

I'm surprised at the sound of the door opening.

"Officers?"

"Admiral Janeway." It's not a question for her identity, I recognize her off countless newsreports in which she is everpresent.

It's as if she tries to hold my gaze hostage with hers. Her bright blue eyes are set on mine and are in total disregard of my young partner Bridges. I realise she'd been succesful for the short moment it had lasted since I only now notice she wears a black hat that's pulled over her left eyebrow in a cocky yet mysterious style. She wears a long black coat that she has buttoned up to her mouth.

"We have someone at the bureau who claims there are intrudors in your house ma'am." It elicits no reaction. "Is everything allright?"

"Someone at the bureau?" She asks confused. I reveal a padd from out of my coatpocket and show her a photo of miss Caulfield. The admiral slowly shakes her head in denial "I've never seen her."

The infopanel in the shuttle had disclosed miss Caulfields indirect relation to admiral Janeway, apparently they share some loveinterest named Johnson, which may explain her preoccupation with the woman. The psychiatrist fulfilling the nightshift had recovered a mental health record which summarized an old history of psychoses, a possibly pathological fixation on the admiral and intensive marriage counseling. Janeways neighbour had cared for the confused woman whom he had seen climbing down the roof. She had been in shock and covered in dirt. He'd brought her straight to the hospital and dispatch hadn't been notified of the incident until Janeways current husband made a direct call to our captain.

"So she hasn't been inside your house earlier this evening? You didn't notice or hear anything on your roof?" I ask.

"_My roof?!_ I've been home since about nine...nine-thirty perhaps, and since then I've noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Listen, I don't know what some deranged woman told you but it sure has nothing to do with _me_, so, if you don't mind officer-" she looks at my chest to inform herself of my name "_Monroe_, I'm in a hurry. _Good_night." She moves to shut the door but I stop it with one hand in its centre.

"Ma'am, I'm truly sorry to intrude, but she claims her husband is being held here. We are told he's your former fiance; Mark Johnson? We haven't yet been able to locate him so if you wouldn't mind-"

"Mark? I can _assure _you there's no one here, especially not Mark, I haven't seen him in ages."

I try a different tactic and point to her coat "Were you about to leave, ma'am?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I'm due back at the Presidium. Like I said, I'm in quite a hurry." She makes use off her full bodylength in standing her ground.

"I won't take long, admiral, if we could just take a quick look inside..." I add persuasion to my bluffed decisiveness by stepping towards her and take an informative glance into the broad corridor behind her. I can easily see past her short form and into the dimlit room but see nothing out of the ordinary.

My momemtum is interrupted by her hand on my chest and she swiftly moves to block my path. "I don't suppose you have a court warrant?"

I act surprised "We don't need one if we have your permission to enter and, honestly ma'am, we might as well spare ourselves the time and trouble of those formalities, wouldn't you agree?" She remains unconvinced and unwilling to let us in.

I don't step back but lean in a bit closer to her face. "It would ease my mind if we could take a look, admiral. I'd very much appreciate it." She averts her face as she leans against the door and moves a hand to her forehead to pinch the bridge of her nose. She seems annoyed by us but I fear she keeps her face hidden by her hand and the shadow of her hat and the dim light.

"Ease your mind?" She overarticulates the words. "I'm expected to go over some details with the Arcadian ambassador in San Fransisco, you expect me to tell her I'm late because I needed to _ease_ some constables _mind_? Really, officer..." I step back in the realisation she won't be deterred.

"We're headed there ourselves" I lie "we'll fly with you."

She sighs, unmoved and unimpressed by yet another invasive attempt "Get off my property, officer Monroe."

I pause.

"You might want to let you husband know nothing is out of the ordinary. Our captain just received a call from him, I hear he sounded quite alarmed."

The slightest quiver of her lower lip alerts the sixth sense every experienced policeman is blessed with. I feel like I caught her off guard by mentioning her husband.

Bridges is allready halfway across the lawn but before I turn to leave I decide to give it one last shot.

"If there were some way, some reason, that kept you from talking openly...that meant you couldn't be honest with me now, then perhaps you could...give me a sign? Like...blink, or perhaps...wink?"

I look at her steadily and she returns the favour. Me, Bridges, Janeway; we all patiently wait and closely moniter each others eyes.

Hers remain open but are somehow less sure of themselves.

Finally, she breaks contact and looks down.

"Really, officer," she chuckles "I think perhaps you've played one too many a holodeckprogram."


	11. Chakotays POV

**11. Chackotays POV**

"Chakotay" Her colorless lips hardly move as she says my name in monotonous surprise. "What brings you here?" Without her uniformjacket on she looks even thinner than she had before. In an attempt to hide her fragility she adjusts her dishevelled hair and with whiteknuckled fingers combs the loose streaks behind her ears. She seems hesitant to open the door to her apartment above headquarters and raises two inquisitive eyebrows in an invitation for me to cut to the point.

"We'd hoped to see you at one of the pulic functions. We watch the enumerations closely and, quite frankly, the crew is worried about you." I fear my offer for help and friendship leaves her more lonely than she had initially been as she smirks absentmindedly and seems to stare at my commbadge as though she longs for something it represents.

"You can tell them they have a tough captain." We both realise her grammatical mistake for she hadn't been our captain for several weeks. Neither of us is willing to confront this fact that was anticipated to be a relief but is now manifesting itself as a great loss, and so her loss of ship and crew lingers in the air like a poisonous gass.

"They know that allready." I say "Can I come in?"

She bluntly deliberates as she remains silent and looks me straight in the eye. For a moment I expect her to turn me down but eventually she steps back, opens the door and precedes me into the spacious suite. She treats the replicator to a careless wave "Help yourself" she says.

As soon as I clear the walls from the corridor the state of the grand livingroom shocks me. The only light that is permitted in is moonlight, large windows allow half the floor to be visible with the white-blue tones of the moon and the occasional shuttle that comes hissing by projects a passing glare of light. The entire floor is covered with padds and portable viewscreens, enlightened letters and numbers on each one of them. Holograpic sheets are pulled up against the walls, all covered in logarithms, texts and pictures and a large viewscreen holds an intricate map with what I recognise to be Voyagers trajectory. To a fly, hovering in the middle of the room, it must seem like a starsystem, or even a complex universe made up from yellow enlightened figures and digits rather than rocks and gasgiants.

"Kathryn, what is this?"

"Choices," she says "... decisions. Seven years worth of it."

She lingered in a corner next to the hallentrance and lets me explore the room on my own. I recognize the structure of the Omega-molecule on one of the padds. A picture of Maje Culluh on another. I pick up a viewscreen at random and scroll down the algorythm that predicts the anomaly Kashyk had been looking for. I move towards the holosheet and see a video is stuck on repeat, it's the fake video Arturis had shown us to fool us into believing his ship would bring us home. Still holding her calculations in one hand I turn to her in search of an explanation for this madness.

She had squatted down at a padd in the far end of the room. Looking at her in that position, and from this distance, it occurs to me she looks like a child, fishing in a vast river or rummaging in an endless pile of dirt. The conscentious, ever-taking-the-high-road Captain Janeway was made to doubt herself, and it had caused a short-circuit in her brain.

"You could help me, " she looks up at me "I've been going over this: when that species 8472 was stuck on the ship, and that Hirogen was hunting it down, do you remember that?" She looks hopefully.

Careful not to tred the countless padds on the floor, I move towards her through the darkness, my eyes still hadn't accustumed to the light. "Briefings will last only a few more weeks, I won't come out unscaved but I can at least try to attend well prepared." She explains as I kneel down in front of her. "Now," She holds up two padds and blocks her face from mine. "Why did I let him hunt him down like an animal, he was clear about his intention, his prey was allready wounded, _why,_ Chakotay, _why _did I permit it? I didn't even take my time to properly deliberate it..."

I shove the padds aside and replace them with my hands. "Kathryn, how would you like to get a coffee somewhere and talk properly." She looks at me intently and exhales in what I perceive to be relief "I don't need to be slapped with hollow assurances and vague generalizations. You know better than to patronize me." She looks down at our intertwined hands "I need clarity before the next enumeration."

I look around at the product of her compulsive obsession and then back to her. "Let's see, we may need to 'replay' every single one of these padds, analyse them, weigh the options, evaluate its affect on the crew...on you." We sit across from each other with our hands and eyes loosely locked. "Along the way we might even figure out what kept us going and what made the crew so loyal to you." She hadn't expected that. I take another look around me and conclude "I'd say we need about seven years."

A chuckle turns into a laugh and evolves further into a tearfull sobb. She shakes her head at her own inability and looks around, the unsurmountable task weighs too heavy on her slender shoulders. Her pointy collarbones scream of their presence, even through her turtleneck, and are a clear reminder of her weakened state.

"...at least." she admits in a whisper.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

I'm surprised to find she's changed the codes. Eager to finally find out what's going on I choose to walk around the house and see what's going on inside, rather than to override the system. "Stay there, I'm just going to take look inside!" Layla and Edward are exhausted from travelling back and forth to DS9 and are frustrated with my unexplained desire to return home.

As I stumble through wet bushes and almost trip over some toy I reach the conservatory where the supposed woman climbed down from. I fold my hands into a cilinder on the glass to filter out the moonlight and watch closely through them. I see nothing out of the ordinary and continue to the livingroom windows. I spread both hands on the thick glass and squint my eyes to make out the vague figures in the unforgiving darkness inside. I lean forward so my nose almost touches the glass and my breath condensates in two odd eggshapes.

A large blurr, that I recognise to be my sofa, is not in its usual place. Suddenly, I notice a stange man sitting on a chair in the middle of the room. He's unconscious. Next to him, there's a Klingon spread out on the floor, he has my plasma cutter lodged deeply in his eyesocket and a small stream of blood trickles down his temple. Now desperate to pinpoint Kathryns location and to get down to the bottom of this I stand up straight and am about to walk back to the front door when I notice movement from behind the fireplace.

A small figure comes crawling toward me. I freeze as I recognize Kathryn trying to get up and walk but she stumbles over a piece of furniture. "_Kathryn!"_ I know the stubborn windows won't let my shout reach her. She continues to cross the three meter gap between us by crawling on her hands and knees. My eyes race over her body to see if she's hurt but the darkness doesn't permit me the information. She finally looks up when she's closer and I'm terrified to see her face has large smears of blood on it. Steadying herself against the window she leaves a bloody handprint, I bend down to put a hand on hers and yell for an explanation. She points to her right. I must go to her. Tearing myself away from her I stand up to head for the door when I'm frozen once again. Two glistening eyes approach from behind the fireplace and slowly move out of the darkness. The monstrous being is something between a skeleton and a man and moves in a slow, controlled manner. I pound my fist on the enforced window "_GET AWAY_". In but a few strides he reaches Kathryn and with his left hand he grabs the hair on her head as if to collect her scalp. He pulls her away from the glass and with a stretched arm steadies her head at his side. Still on her knees, she is now more vulnerable then ever and hangs at his mercy like a ragdoll. The unforgiving glass renders me powerless and I feel as though I'm watching a fake horror on a viewscreen. They might as wel be in a different world, a different dimension. I violently pound the window with all the strength I can muster. I'm not sure what I'm screaming but whatever it is, it won't reach them. The skeleton is unmoved by my violence. I hold my adrenaline and the urges that come with it so I can watch him closely as he slowly lifts his right finger and points at me by tapping his finger on the bloody stain Kathryn left on the glass. Without wasting a single blink, he raises the pointy finger to his throat and moves it horizontally to leave a thin red line. Die, he says. Die.

I snapp out of my reverie and run at a speed I probably never ran before. The toy is no longer an obstacle as I fly past it and the bushes go by unnoticed. My body hasn't yet lost its speed as my eye is allready at the iris-scanner by the door and clumsily slams the wall like a sack of potatoes that's thrown down a first floor window.

_'Scanning'_ The system says. The second lasts an age.

_'Hello Chakotay, welcome home, do you wish to alter the setting to your securitysystem?' _

_"_NO!"

'_Do you wish to change your entrance code?' _

"YES!"

_'You are free to make alterations.'_

I hit the button that says _immediate entrance_ and the door finally opens. I am welcomed by an eardeafeningly loud second Waltz by Sjostakovitsj, one of Kathryns favorites. My peripheral vision is a blurr and all I can hear through the music is my heartbeat that seems to resonate through my sight as the veins in my eyes drum on the rythm that my adrenaline dictates. I seem to fly through the corridor and into the livingroom.

I'm just in time to see two figures shimmer off into oblivion as the pattern of a transporterbeam dissipates.

I run towards it but can do nothing but stand where they had before and yell out her name. She can't hear me, I can't even hear myself through the music.

I'm unsure of what to do. How to act. The kids are outside. _What to do? What just happened?_

I see the man in the chair moving his mouth. I grab him and give him my hardest swing. He moans without sound and opens his eyes so wide they seem to grow to the size of pingpong balls. He spits out a mixture of teeth, blood and spit as I yell in his face "_WHERE IS SHE?"_ He screams in fear. I hold him at the collar of his shirt and lift him up. My strength is fed more by anger and desperation then by muscles and I'm surprised to find the chair doesn't fall from beneath him. I drag him into the light of the hallway. 'Stop' he seems to shout. He averts his face and tenses his muscles awaiting my next puch. _That face...where had I seen it before?_

Then I know.

"Mark?!"

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

I should have made her keep her promise.

It´s not even like her to break promises.

All my attempts at assuring her of the incompatability of familylife with a promotion into admiralty had fallen on deaf ears. She had said her days as a scientist were counted, that her determined focus on motherhood needed relief, that she would always be a mother, a woman and a wife before being an admiral. In the end I had indulged her. Of course, for how could I not? Seeing her so alive, so different from the woman she had been years earlier during the debriefings, had filled me with joy- I would have agreed to anything she desired. So, as if she were a pilgrim that had reached her Mekka, she had come fullcircle in her life as the ambitious Starfleet officer that she is and she had flourished in her new position.

I feared for her sanity however and the image of me standing by while the Fleet devoured her once again, used her up like a dealer would his junky, haunted me. I had often pretended to sleep as she worked late and silently slid into our bed, while the light of some datapad still lighted up the room for hours like a proverbial needle in her arm.

She said she had wanted to join me for Sekaya's weddinganniversy but she just couldn't let this opportunity for Kronos slip by; she preferred to go to San Fransisco. I hadn't resisted for I had excepted the Fleet proved too much of a competition in the fight for her time. The carefully built understanding that is still the foundation of our life together and that is honoured by careful compromises and close communication, reminded me that, as I need her for my peace, she needs the Fleet for hers.

_"Sir?"_

Nevertheless, it felt like a break of promise, a promise I should have made her keep.

_"Sir?"_

I let her rosary slide through my fingers as I lean with one hand against the fireplace. The cut through cuff is in front of me and is a clear reminder of what she had had to endure.

Someone is clearing his throat behind me.

"Sir?"

"Yes?" I turn around to find the captain of the local police behind me. The house is crawling with officers en forensic analysts. Large, bright lights that they had installed fill the room with a cold, clinical air, leaving shadows where there normally aren't any. I'm facing the window with the bloody hand that looks like a smudgy face with five big hairs and is engulfed by the surrounding blackness of night. I hope I don't have to see it once the sun has come up for the nature of the damning face might change and seeing a living, moving world behind it could give it more characteristics then I want it to have, the worst of which being for it to show the passing of time.

"Sir, you asked to be informed when Starfleet made contact with Voyager..."

I stand straight "Yes, do we have a connection?"

"You do indeed sir, Starfleet routed them through, you can acces your kitchenpanel if you like."

"Good." I step past the investigators and as I move through the line of sight of reporters standing outside the opened frontdoor and evoke an unwanted wave of clicking holocamera's, I silently add _'now we can really get something done'. _


	12. Finale

**Kathryns POV**

No clouds. No reference as to how high above sea level I am.

As a cadet I spent many hours cruising Earths atmosphere; the planets specific size and therefore specific curve at a certain height had become a reliable gauge for me to estimate my altitude. That was a long time ago however, and these akwardly curved portholes are overwhelmed with white sunlight. Paperlike suncreens are rendered ineffective when leaning in close to see the desert down below. My eyes give in to the white burn of sunrays and warm tears of protest threaten to flow down my cheeks.

All I know is I'm high above sea level. Very high, probably too high to go out without a pressuresuit and definitely too high to breath without an oxygen mask. I know that in the hard vacuum of space one could last about fifteen seconds, assuming of course you had deeply exhaled to keep your lungsacs from exploding due to decompression. So, there you have it: my estimated window of opportunity were I to climb down the elevatorshaft all the way to the desert below, ten, maybe twenty kilometers beneath me...Fifteen seconds.

'Window of _opportunity..._' I snicker at the word.

"Do not worry _madam_, we have not left your precious Earth" his lazy French tintles my neckhair as he assures me of something I had already figured out. I turn to see the Skeleton appear from behind the centre of the donutshaped room. The sepia-colored paper that partly covers the windows and the chaotic mess inside the eerie chamber remind me of maestro DaVinci's workplace. The Skeleton even seems less menacing as he slithers in my direction.

"I understand your relief; I too feel strongly about our planet" at this he holds his balled fist against his bare chest. "...but this, this is where all values made way to greed." he says. "Greed, power , boredom -all self-strengthening traits, _n'est-ce pas?_" My eyebrows curl in confusion. He points his colorful arm to one of the windows further down the row of portholes. "There are no homes down there, everyone here is merely passing through life." I tentatively move towards it and with squinted eyes I manage to make out the archaic palmshaped Island that was once a quintessential feat of human engineering. It is the telltale I had been searching for. "Dubai." I conclude.

**Chakotays POV**

All eyes are on me as I confidently step onto the bridge. I don´t welcome it´s familiarity for this is not how I wish to remember it.

"Welcome back, Commander." Voyagers Captain offers me a solid handshake. "No more, Harry, no more." I tell him. The red shouldered uniform seems to broaden him and his greying hair is longer than it had been. "We're scanning Earth as we speak but we think he's using some sort of scattering device." He gestures for me to follow him to his former station at operations. "How so?" I ask. "The coordinates given by the surviving Klingon at your house are all situated in major cities." He shuffles through enlarged maps as he continues "...Londons subway system, an ancient storageroom in Capetown, this one is in Bombay..." His fingers fly over the panel that still appears to belong to him, rather than to the ensign who officially occupies it now. I know he could do this blindfolded as one hand taps the buttons with quick ease and the other moves on the rythm of his speech, its opened palm somehow adds clarity to his explanation. "All these places should be _accesible_ with the clearence we're given by Admiral Paris. Tuvok tells me however that delinquents often scatter their bio-patterns and add the minuscule bits to surrounding ones. When this is done over a population of millions the pattern you're looking for gets lost in the mass." I nodd in understanding "You can't see the forrest for the trees." "Exactly" he says.

I've processed the information by the time I say "Good work" and remain hunched over the station as I automatically act on what I've been dealt with "Ask Seven if she can sift through all Earths patterns more efficiently. Also, she may be able to piece Janeways pattern back together if she focusses on the places the Klingon gave us. B'Elanna can start enhancing the scanners so you might want to reroute auxiliary power and make Tom initiate a looped search-sequence."

"Yes sir" He says. It's a gut reaction, as if the impuls hasn't reached his brain but took the shortcut through his spine. For a moment we freeze at the embarrasing realization of how easily we slipped into the old habbit.

"That, at least, would be my suggestion." I stammer.

He nods and heads back to her seat. _His _seat. _His_ seat.

**Kathryns POV**

His painted on teeth form a selfindulging smirk. "You are here, _madam,_ simply because I wish to 'ave you here." He unfolds his hands and spreads his arms amicably. "The room is more interesting with _you_ in it." I realise I´ve become a collectable. Among wooden dolls, books, bottles of whine and absinth, paintings and sculptures I am now another item in the showcase of his twisted worldview.

"I appreciate the suiting surroundings but I can assure you, I have no interest in being your Scheherazade." He smiles and moves to a luggage container on a nearby desk while he continues "A shame, I'm sure you know exciting stories of courage and adventure." He pauses to rummage through some things and doesn't continue until he's found his treasure. The blood on my face has dried and I can feel flakes of it breaking when I speak. I think I may have broken a rib during the last beating and I know my foot has been trampled so hard my nail is bound to turn a dark shade of blue before it will come off. "If you deprive me of your stories then your answers will do." He holds out his hand and I'm shocked at the realisation of what it contains.

"Where did you.." I hastily stumble towards him. I've almost crossed the distance between us as a piercing pain goes through my ribcage and I grab his held out wrist to steady myself.

I retrieve the much valued ring from between his undeserving thumb and indexfinger.

"Where did you..." I shift both my head and the delicate piece of jewelry so I can read the elegant inscription inside, "_Wear this as a token of my love, yours forever, Gretchen_" I shake my head in disbelief. "It's in pristine shape, still perfectly readable...after six years Chakotays name is already wearing off mine."

The image of my lonely mother comes back vivedly. She's sitting at the kitchentable with a plate of homecooked food gone cold. As always, I feel responsible somehow but I stand powerless in the doorway, my high grades and good sportsreviews are inadequate tools to fix her. "He said he'd be back in time to tuck you in" she promises my gullible babysister with deflated optimism.

"He never wore it..." It's whispered in a dreamlike state but regardless of its soft sound I realise I just shared an intimacy with this conniving man and can't help but feel exposed.

My face and voice harden as I move my flickering gaze back to his marble-like eyes that suddenly seem set in desire. "...dirty tricks and manipulations." I say randomly. I curse myself for being fooled and my nostalgia has made way for utter disdain, hatred even. I quickly let go of his wrist and want to balance myself to the nearby desk. Before I get the chance he grabs me by my elbows and thrusts his nose into my hair. "What are you doing?!" I panic, not quite overcome from my previous shift in sentiment and overwhelmed by his sudden force. My face is above his shoulder as he further buries his face in the side of my neck and I'm free to search the room for something, anything. He moves his hands from my elbows to my shoulders and from my shoulders to my face as he corners me against the desk. The sudden movement forces the luggagecontainer to the floor and its insides spread out in a loud clatter. My recently freed hands blindly search the surface behind me and find an undefinable shape to hold on to. The Skeleton holds my face and studies it closely as if he were looking for a tiny splinter. I return the favour and can only now appreciate the detail of the skillfully applied skull. The skull on the wrong side of his skin.

"_Vous êtes formidable."_ He says.

In one decisive swing the unknown object lands on his head. It doesn't have the slightest effect and time stops for a split second as we both look at the inept thing in my hand. We realise simultaneously that it's an unfolded stapler and just before he thrusts up his elbow to fend me off I press it onto his face. I hear the spring crinch together as the old mechanism sadistically leaves a metallic bite in his cheekbone. He steps back with a scream and in doing so grands me the chance to look for a more suitable weapon. All I manage is to turn around and reach for a glass bottle of liquor on the far end of the desk but he has me overpowered once more. Despite his dangly appearance he still outweighs me and my strenght is no match to his. He pushes my arm up behind my back and the uncomfortable pain makes me cringe. His free hand circles my throat and he hisses long French sentences in my ear that melt together in a prayerlike mantra. I can almost feel a snakes tong tickling my earlobe as he caresses my throat and pushes me hard against the desk. The bottle tops over, leaving the sound of rolling glass on wood resonating through my bonemarrow. "..you will obey, I'll make you if I must." He moves his hand from my throat and pulls at the back of my bloodstained blouse, giving me the chance to grab for the bottle in front of me. In the knowledge that no man can ever say those words to me, let alone act on them, I loudly smash the bottle on the table, turn it in my hand and thrust it backwards. At first, I'm not sure if and where I hit him but the liberating answer comes to me in the form of his loosening grip. He silently sinks down to his knees as the anise-smell of spilled absinth fills my nostrils.

"I've never responded well to threats."

**Chakotays POV**

Earth had moved horizonally in the suns light and mighty Afrika, now veiled in dusk, is spread out in front of me -I painfully deduce that the solar system, unlike me, is unmoved by recent events.

Seven and B'Elanna had admired the view with me for a while after we had come to the harsh conclusion that, allthough our tactic would prove helpfull to archeologist looking for scattered fossils, piecing together a puzzle of specific biopatternbits wasn't getting us anywhere in the search for my beloved wife. Even the sophisticated instruments in Voyagers science-lab hadn't been of help in finding the algorithm needed to filter out the designated DNA-strands. Kathryn might have been of help.

Back when this magnificent view would still receive the awe it deserves, this lab facilitated many projects that Kathryn had been engulfed in. Whenever time would permit she would think of something that needed tweeking, studying, calculating...anything.

My first shimmer of hope at a life together with her was elicited in this very room.

"Goodmorning" I say to Voyagers seemingly empty laboratory. I should've known she'd pulled an all-nighter. The light is turned down and mugs, cups, padds and petridishes cover the workcounters. I don't see Kathryn until she greets me from the corner to my right. "Chakotay." She almost whispers. "Come look at this" She nudges her head to her sciencestation and smiles tenderly as though she's about to show me a newborn child. She's thrown her jacket on the counter behind her and has neglected to attach the commbadge to her grey shirt. "It's from one of the borg nodes we collected." She still whispers and looks at the figures as though they are magical faries dancing on a pond, the slightest ripple would be enough to alert them of our presence and scare them off. I bite my lip to hide my amusement and let her enthusiasm lead me. "It's through electroweak symmetry breaking that fundamental particles acquire mass, interaction with the Higgs-field being fundamental in this, of course." She checks if I'm still with her and seems satisfied with my interest. Breaking off our shortly lived eyecontact, she continues towards the screen. "Now, the Higgs particle doesn't interact with massless particles such as photons, but this data seems to suggest, and I'm just scratching the surface here, but it _seems _to suggest that the spontaneous interaction with the Higgs Boson-particles can be influenced via an _extra_ field of neutralizing negative-force..." I never look at the digits, regardless of how groundbreaking a theory they might suggest, watching her face so full of emotion is a more mesmerizing spectacle. "... Higgs-Boson is after all a mere force-transferring particle, if the reaction can be prevented _all_ mass could be rendered to mere light." She shakes her head in disbelief and mindlessly takes my right elbow into her lefthand. I can't believe my luck for visiting her on this early morning and stealing this precious, dimlit moment before Voyager wakes and all systems are running at peak efficiency again. "This might shed some light on..." she shortly hesitates before naming the holy grale of today's particle physics "...transwarp travelling." She looks at me af if she wishes to include me in a fiendish plot. "Well?" It occurs to me that no alien influence, no isolation in a turbolift or on some alien planet, no near death experience; no external influence is needed to finally break my self control. An ordinary day with her will do. "What do you think?" She persists innocently. My unwavering eyes linger on hers and I sigh in response. Only now she properly turns her head towards me and drops her hand from my elbow. "Chakotay?" It's barely audible. I turn to her and our closeness, that had been void of tension when we where both facing the panel, increasess exponentially. With my right arm I lean against an overhanging bulkhead behind her and lower my forehead to less than an inch from hers. She's shocked and I can feel her exhale irradically.

"Tell me to step back and I'll never be this close to you again." I say.

For some reason we seem miles from the bridge, the crew, the directive and our formal stiffness that dictates our days. I don't want to know about any of it. I just want to keep watching her lips as they pronounce silent words. Unable to reply she akwardly shifts towards my arm which I gently lower to let her pass. No reaction would suffice and I see her struggle to come up with a clever response, or rather the least damaging one. She steps towards the door, turns around bewildered and confused, and finally heads out. _Idiot._ Whenever we get too close she moves away for weeks and at those times I had never been this explicit. I lean on the counter and lower my head in defeat. What have I done? _What have I done?!_ Her uniform jacket lies in front of me. *_Beep*. Captain Janeway, please report to the Bridge_* She forgot her badge. I pick up the small jacket and squeeze the fabric in search of the damned thing. At that moment the door hisses open and Kathryn steps back in. She looks as though she hasn't inhaled since she last exited and her mouth is open, still in an expression of shock and disbelief. She approaches for the jacket and reaches over the counter. "That data..." she starts hesitantly "...there are far too many unknown variables to draw conclusions at this point." She searches for words. "...unknown consequences, you see." We are both holding the jacket and it forms the perfect contact during this delicate moment, we're not touching but stand bridged none the less. Without the jacket and the counter between us, she might not have felt the safety needed to speak up. "Perhaps back on Earth, in a more controlled environment, we might...explore the possibilities." *_Captain please respond_* A poorlier timed request hasn't occured in the history of communicationstechnology. She closes her eyes in annoyance. "That is, if by that time one of us hasn't lost interest" she adds in a hurry. "Right" I say firmly and hand her the jacket. "...hard to imagine though; losing interest in such a...phenomenon." I add. My ambiguity allows her to think I humor her analogy. She turns for the door. Before responding to the call she looks back one last time. I try to save the image in my mind for I fear I might never see someone so beautifull again, so full of life. The lighting even holds a warmth it usually lacks. "Quite interesting..." she smirks and playfully raises her eyebrows. The daylight-mode in the corridor must have just switched on as the doors open and this time a clinical fluorescence rudely hacks into the lab and into our forbidden moment. "...Quite interesting indeed" she smiles and steps out, back into daily life. I can just hear her answer yet another hail before the door closes and I'm left alone.

Utterly alone. I don't think I ever recalled that loneliness before.

I've turned my back to Earths marvel and can almost see our ghosts interact as I play out the memory. I had deemed myself too forward at the time but now I wish I had just spelled out my attraction to her on the first day we met.

_*Beep* Chakotay, please report to the bridge_.* ...Typical.

**Kathryns POV**

"Tom taught me an impression."

"Show me." I say as I pull Layla diagonally across my lap and onto the couch. "It's a leprechaun in a box" she announces seriously and tightly covers her mouth with a cupped hand. Her voice sounds muffled as she continues "_let me out. Hey, let me out!_". I laugh hard and cover her face with kisses. "That's wicked!" Her giddy laughter elevates the room and I seek Chakotays eyes as he silently watches our interaction.

Voyagers mess hall is empty but for my family. Edward lets model spaceships collide above the glass table and Chakotay sits in a ninety degree angle to my left in one of the grey loungechairs. His right elbow is perched up on the armrest to support his tired head. Unlike my children, who have little understanding of my ordeal, he seems to have aged considerably over the past twenty-four hours.

"I wonder," I tell him "I always said I'd like to teach quantum mechanics at the academy, why didn't I ever seriously consider that option?" He smiles and exhales "I don't know." He says exhausted. "How would you like _two_ teachers for parents?" I turn back to Layla who gives me a disgusted look in response. I pinch her nose and say "I rather like the idea."

Chakotay slowly shifts in his seat to extend his hand which I eagerly accept. It leaves a red print on his face where it had been before. "We'll be fine." I tell him as I playfully swing our intertwined hands between our seats in an attempt to invoke a reaction. "I have some changes to make, but I have a feeling we'll be fine." I repeat.

Voyager takes its time before disembarking, giving us much needed room to breathe before facing the circus back in Indiana. A lot of loose ends need tying up and I feel I don't yet have the strenght. I've felt like this before: both anxious and optimistic to get home. This time, however, I've learned to do things a little different. Armed with my family as my anchor I look out the giant mess hall windows and see America slowly pass by. My lips curl into a smile when I understand Tom takes the ship for another round around the planet and gives us the opportunity to watch the magnificent spectacle of Earth passing by once again.

Chakotay squeezes my hand "That sounds like a good life." He says.


End file.
